Wedding His Takeover Target / Inheriting His Secret Christmas Baby: Wedding His Takeover Target. Emilie Rose
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deal with the new jewelry after they left Christian’s.
“A hundred bucks says you won’t,” Blake challenged. “Dad might have been an uptight pain in the ass, but he was a shrewd businessman. If there was a way to get that land back, he would have found it.”
Gavin shook his head and withdrew a matching bill. “You’re on. If there’s one thing engineering has taught me, it’s that there’s a solution to every problem. It’s a matter of whether you’re willing to pay the price. All I have to do is find Caldwell’s price and that land will be ours.”
“Hey,” Gavin called out before Blake could climb into his car outside Christian’s office. “What in the hell is that thing on your finger?”
Blake smiled, looking as satisfied as if he’d just finished a five-course gourmet dinner. “Samantha and I got married in Vegas.”
Shock popped Gavin in the gut. “I thought you were there for work on your hotel.”
“Not this time. We were there for our wedding and honeymoon. We’re going to tell the family tonight.”
“Are you out of your mind?”
Blake looked him dead in the eye. “Yes. With happiness.”
“Samantha’s been around for years and you never noticed her in that way before. In fact, you always said never mix business with pleasure unless you want pleasure to bite you in the ass.”
Blake’s skin reddened. “What can I say? I was a little slow on the uptake.”
“You did this because you didn’t want to lose her as your assistant, right?”
“Our romance started that way, but it’s more than that now. I love her.”
Gavin laughed. And then he realized Blake wasn’t joking. His brother’s expression was serious and more than a little sappy. “You’re kidding, right?”
“No. Love is the only reason to take that step.”
Not in Gavin’s world. In his world love was something to avoid, like standing in front of moving trains or jumping off a bridge. “You’re saying you love Samantha—the ‘til death do you part kind of thing?”
“Yes, I am.”
Blake looked happy instead of miserable. How had that happened? It didn’t matter how, the euphoria wouldn’t last long. His brother was as much of a workaholic as Gavin. Women hated that. And when they’d had enough solitude they packed up and left. “Is she pregnant?”
“Not that I know of, but I wouldn’t mind if she were.”
“Did you get a prenup?”
“I’m not worried about a prenup.”
“Blake, I’ve never known you to be blind or stupid.”
“And I’m not now. In fact, I’m seeing clearly for the first time. Samantha is the only woman I want and I trust her implicitly.”
Poor deluded sucker.
“You’d risk it even knowing how crazy losing Mom made Dad?”
“I’d be just as crazy, maybe more so, if I were too much of a coward to try to make this work.”
“I can’t talk you into an annulment?”
“No.” Blake wore his stubborn, don’t-mess-with-me face. “And I’d suggest you back off. Remember, you like Samantha.”
“As your assistant, yes, she’s damned good at her job, probably the best assistant you’ve ever had. But marriage?” He faked a shudder.
“Yes, marriage. You should try it.”
No way. He and Trevor were the only ones who’d eluded pairing up in the past few months. Good thing he knew he wasn’t susceptible. Otherwise he’d be worried. “I guess all I can do is wish you luck and tell you I’ll be here when you need me.”
“To pick up the pieces? I won’t be needing those services.”
“You hope.”
“I know. Samantha is the one for me. The only one.”
Gavin opened his mouth to continue the argument then swallowed the words. Blake was infatuated and probably brain-dead from getting laid well and often. Gavin wasn’t going to be able to change his mind. The best he could do is hope like hell that when the marriage ended, Samantha wouldn’t take a chunk of Jarrod Ridge with her.
The Snowberry Inn looked as homey as Jarrod Ridge was opulent, Gavin decided as he ran an assessing eye over the large Victorian after circling the block to appraise his opponent’s property. Located in the heart of downtown, the B and B had a homey charm reminiscent of Aspen’s silver mining boom in the 1880s, whereas his family’s resort catered to affluent guests who demanded modern amenities and world-class service.
He pushed open the door of one of The Ridge’s fleet of luxurious black Cadillac SUVs, and the irregular beat of an unskilled carpenter’s hammer striking wood greeted him as he slid from behind the wheel. Glancing up and down the street, he surveyed the area, his breath fogging the chilly autumn air. The location couldn’t be faulted. Guests could easily stroll to the shopping district’s art galleries and designer boutiques or to the upscale restaurants overlooking the Roaring Fork River.
A prime piece of valuable real estate and a relatively large parcel if the barns beyond the main structure were included.
He followed the winding walk through bare Aspen trees and leafy snowberry shrubs with their white fruits glistening in the afternoon sunlight. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he and his brothers had used clusters of the small berries as ammunition for their homemade slingshots whenever they’d stolen a few moments away from their father’s eagle eye.
Though the B and B appeared structurally sound, the clapboards could use a fresh coat of forest-green paint. The butter-yellow railing wobbled slightly in his grip as he climbed the brick steps leading to the front porch. His offer would give Caldwell an influx of cash that would more than cover the cosmetic work.
Rather than ring the bell by the front door Gavin followed the banging sound around the wide covered porch spanning the front and side of the building, hoping to find Caldwell or someone who could direct him to the man. He found a red-coated, hammer-wielding female, kneeling with her back to him. A matching red toboggan capped long, dark curls winding down her back. Definitely not Henry Caldwell.
“Ow. Oh. Dammit,” a feminine voice cried out. The hammer clattered on the floorboards.
“You okay?”
The handywoman shot to her feet and spun around, clutching her left thumb in her right hand. Wide, bright blue eyes found his.
“Who are you?” Pain tightened her voice.
“Gavin Jarrod. Need some help?”
“Are you looking for a room?” She ignored his question.
“No. I’m here to see Henry Caldwell.”
He automatically catalogued her assets. Early- to mid-twenties. Smooth, clear skin. Above average height and probably slender beneath the parka if her long, jeans-clad legs were any indication. In short, beautiful and worth getting to know better.
Then he appraised the problem, a half hammered-in nail, toenailing the railing to the column. Not an easy angle for an amateur. “Let me get that for you.”
He bent and scooped up the hammer—one too heavy for her—and slammed in the nail with one swing. “There you go.”
“Thanks,” she offered grudgingly. Still holding her injured hand close to her body, she accepted the tool he offered with her other.
“Let me look at that.” He grabbed her wrist and inspected her reddened thumb. The unpainted nail plate remained intact with no blood pooling